Dragons and Demons
by piraticalxo
Summary: While Arthur and Gwen are busy celebrating the arrival of the newest member of the Camelot household, Morgana is up to a few tricks of her own. Rated K  for the moment, though this may change.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys :) just something I've been working on for a little while, hopefully you'll like it._

_The first chapter doesn't give much away about what the rest of the story will be about, so I'm hoping you'll stick with it for a bit._

_Just a heads up - Uther isn't dead, and a bunch of other stuff is going on that might not necessarily be canon, but the basics are pretty much the same. Oh, and this will be told through the eyes of a bunch of different people, in different locations (bear in mind I have literally no idea about what Britain was like in the fifth century, so most of it is pure imagination...)_

_Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 1<strong>

**Camelot.**

Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, strode into the empty throne room. The household servants had all finished their duties, and were busy getting prepared for the evening ahead. Richly-decorated tables lined the grey stone walls, their gold and silver platters ready to be filled with the best culinary delights that Camelot could offer. It was to be a night of extravagance, of splendour, of celebration.

He continued up the aisle, along the thick tapestry carpet which had borne the feet of countless other members of the Camelot royal family. The floor had been filled with rows of wooden benches for their guests, with cushions for the members of the noblest families; the walls were hung with the Pendragon crest. Three gilded chairs stood higher than the rest on a raised platform at one end of the room, and it was to these that Arthur headed. In front of them stood a tiny wooden cradle, decorated with fairy-tale carvings of heroes, fairies and animals. It had been in the Pendragon family for centuries. He stepped up onto the platform, glanced back towards the large wooden doors – which were closed – and, after hesitating for a moment, sank back into the middle of the three, the largest, and most decorative, one.

As he looked out across the big empty room, which in a few hours would be filled with friends and strangers alike, he thought of how much his life had changed in the past two years. There had been so much loss, and he knew the worst was still to come, yet he felt the happiest he hadever felt in his life.

The doors creaked open and he shot up from the throne with a start. Gwen entered the room and grinned as she saw her husband.

"I thought I would find you in here," she said with an understanding smile, as she saw him hovering over the king's chair.

Arthur looked slightly sheepish. "I was just…making sure everything was in order." He knew she had seen him sitting on his father's throne. "You should be resting."

She joined him on the platform, and took hold of his hands. "It's fine to be thinking about that, you know," she murmured, nodding towards Uther's throne. She ignored his second comment – Arthur had been rather overprotective of her in the past few days. "It doesn't make you a bad prince, or a bad son. It will be yours someday, and you should be thinking about it."

"Hopefully not _too _soon," he replied, returning her smile. "Let's just get through tonight, shall we?"

"You say that like you're not looking forward to it," Gwen teased. "In a few hours we'll be back here, with all of our friends and family around us."

"Yes," he nodded. "Let's not think about such morbid things as my father's inevitable death."

Gwen grimaced. "Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a bit grim."

Arthur laughed, and swept his wife into his arms. "I love you, Guinevere Pendragon."

"Under vow I think I'm supposed to say that I love you too, and honour, keep and guard you. Oh, and be an obedient queen."

Another voice replied, causing both husband and wife to start. "I think we can count on you being a very _dis_obedient queen."

Arthur and Gwen whirled around to see Merlin, smirking as he leaned against one of the wooden benches.

"Merlin!" Arthur glowered, as he and Guinevere sprang apart. "Have you never heard of knocking?"

"Believe me, I knocked. You two were just a little bit busy to hear me."

"What do you want?" Arthur demanded.

"Gwen, I've been sent to fetch you. Apparently they're not quite finished with you yet."

Gwen sighed and rolled her eyes, squeezing Arthur's hand once more before stepping off the platform. "Thank you, Merlin," she smiled as she passed him, trying to ignore the smirk which was still plastered on his face. "I'll leave you two to it."

Arthur waited until Gwen had left the throne room before turning on Merlin. "You should think twice about behaving like that around the future king of Camelot and his wife. Not a wise move."

"Oh yeah?" Merlin scoffed, clearly unperturbed by Arthur's reaction. "Well maybe _you_ should think twice before doing – whatever you two were doing – in the throne room. I don't think the king would be very impressed with your usage of his chair."

"Go find something useful to do, Merlin," Arthur growled, stalking past his manservant and trusted friend.

"Like what?" Merlin called to him.

Arthur stopped, and turned back to face him. "My boots need cleaning."

Merlin's face fell. "I did them this morning."

Arthur grinned maliciously. "I know you did. And they served me well for when I went out riding a few hours ago. But they need cleaning again."

He didn't have to see Merlin's expression to know what it would look like. Without another word, he left the throne room, and his best friend, behind him, in search of something to do before the celebrations began.

**Malcourt.**

In a dilapidated castle on the other side of the kingdom, Morgana Pendragon was feeling unsettled. Nights had been sleepless ever since the death of her sister, Morgause, and thoughts of all that had happened in the past few years never ceased tormenting her. Only once in all that time had she risked travelling to Camelot, under cover of both darkness and disguise. She had caught sight of her father, Uther, on the battlements of the castle, but with little strength and no allies, her plans to remove him – and Arthur – couldn't be rushed. Morgause was dead, Agravaine gone, along with all those who had helped her so long ago. She was biding her time, picking up snippets of news here and there, and waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Unable to remain inside the crumbling walls any longer, she pulled on her black travelling cloak and headed outside. It was dusk, and the sun sat large and low over the forest that surrounded the castle. Her horse, cross at being awakened at so late an hour, neighed his annoyance as she climbed onto his back and gave him a rough kick in the flank.

The pathway through the forest was narrow and shadowy, but Morgana had no reason to feel spooked by whatever lay amongst the trees. She galloped for over an hour, distancing herself from her castle hideout in the hope that, for just a little while, she could escape the memories. As the path emerged from the forest it widened into a road, once used by the inhabitants of a local village to gain access to the rich resources of the forest. Now the village was long gone, its smouldering remains home only to starving ravens and other pests looking for scraps of left-behind food.

Morgana suppressed a shudder as she passed the abandoned houses, crumbling with age. She could almost hear the screams of those who had fled the Dorocha over two years ago. The village, Malcourt, had been one of the worst affected by the merging of the spirit world with the living – perhaps that had been why Morgana had been so drawn to the castle nearby.

The road veered off to the right towards the next village, the lights of which could still be seen glowing against the darkening sky. Morgana slowed her horse, and used the cover of the shadows to enter the streets undetected. Despite the lateness of the hour, there was much evidence of activity – people were gathered outside of the tavern, uproarious laughter mingling with the sounds of some musical instrument. Morgana passed a young man and woman, meeting clandestinely round the back of a blacksmith's shop. She threw them a disgusted look, but they were too absorbed in each other to notice the pale, dark-haired witch and her horse.

Reaching a public trough, she allowed her horse to rest and slid quietly from his back. Tying him tightly to a nearby post, she rearranged her cloak so as not to be recognised, and headed back towards the tavern. Underneath her hood, she glared at the group of people who stood between her and the tavern's entrance, and as if they had seen her green eyes flash the colour of fire, they stumbled drunkenly out of her way. Morgana lifted a black-gloved hand to push open the heavy wooden door of the tavern, and a wall of raucous noise hit her as she stepped inside. A large fire was burning merrily in an open grate, filling the room with warmth. Those closest to the entrance felt the gust of cold air as the door opened, and their eyes followed the mysterious hooded figure as she slipped quietly towards a solitary table at the back of the room.

She scanned the entire room, searching for a familiar face that would catch her out if she were to reveal herself. No, she recognised no one, and she never forgot a face. Hesitantly, she lowered the hood of her cloak. She was disgusted at her need to be so careful – here she was, heir to the throne of Camelot, acting no better than a common criminal. Her gaze shifted towards a particularly rowdy group of men – men made up the majority of the tavern's customers, she noticed – crowding round the bar. One of them, having noticed her glance in their direction, leered toothlessly at her. Morgana had a sudden urge to punish her drunken admirer, to curse him right out of the door, but she couldn't. No, she didn't want to risk exposure, not now. Not now she'd worked so hard to get away from her old life. If she were to be caught now, no powers in the world would save her from being hauled in front of King Uther, Prince Arthur and his new wife.

Thinking of Gwen used to make her feel sad, and nostalgic. Now she just felt cold, bitter hatred towards the woman who would one day have her crown. The vision of her former maidservant sitting on the throne that was rightfully Morgana's made her blood run cold. No, she couldn't act now. But she would get her revenge one day.

The tavern door banged open again and an old man burst in, wearing thick woollen cloaks to keep out the cold. He was certainly one of the common villagers, yet the way that all heads turned towards him made Morgana sit up straighter. This man had clearly earned a lot of respect from his fellows.

"I bring great news!" he exclaimed, and as he strode towards the bar a path naturally formed in the throng of men gathered around it. One offered him his stool and he sat down gratefully. Almost immediately, a tankard was placed ceremoniously in front of him by the innkeeper.

"What is it, Caradew?" someone demanded impatiently, as the old man took a swig of his drink. He finished the tankard in one gulp, smacked his lips appreciatively, and set it back on the bar.

"As you all know," he said, addressing the crowd. They had all gathered around him, those who were standing outside had come back in, all in anticipation of Caradew's news. "As you all know, I have been making my annual journey to Lymors."

Morgana sat up straighter in her chair. Lymors was a town not far away from the big castle, the court of Camelot – what news could this old, common peasant have from there that was so important?

Caradew beamed around at his fellows. "It has come!" he cried. "The day we have all been waiting for! Princess Guinevere has given the prince a child!"

Gasps of excitement spread throughout the crowd.

"A child!" repeated a young woman – one of the few women present – in apparent rapture. "What is it, Caradew? Do tell us."

"Yes, come on, old man," a handsome boy grinned, patting Caradew on the back. "That's not enough news to satisfy the girls at home!"

"A girl, I believe," Caradew answered, as the innkeeper poured him another drink. "Not much more to say, I'm afraid. I'm sure we'll hear more soon enough."

"Oh," the woman sighed dreamily. "What if she were to marry the duke's son? That lad would be perfect for a princess."

The young man laughed. "Come off it, Laudine. Our duke's never going to be good enough for a daughter of that prince Arthur. She'll be lucky if she's let out the castle at all!"

Everybody laughed, and began to drift away from the bar as the innkeeper announced it was time to close. Morgana paid no attention to the excited rabble around her. She sat motionless, frozen in fear and resentment, bitterness and hatred for the baby girl, her niece. If Caradew's word was true, then she had another contender to her throne. It just wouldn't do.

"Time to go, ma'am," the innkeeper woke Morgana from her reverie. He was hovering by her table, unsure of what to make of this strange, mysterious woman he'd never seen before. Morgana blinked, and noticed that everybody had left.

"You able to get home all righ'?" the innkeeper asked, hinting heavily now. "It's a nasty place out there, 'specially for a pretty young thing like ye'self."

Morgana lip curled into a snarl, and she bit back a retort. She just wanted to get out of there. Still, she had gotten her news – that was what she came for, wasn't it? Still, it wasn't the news she was expecting, or hoping for.

She flounced out of the tavern, black cloak billowing behind her as she lifted her hood over her long raven hair. The young man who had spoken to Caradew was still outside, leaning cockily against the tavern's stone wall. Morgana stalked past him, and she heard his footsteps against the cobbled street.

"Hey, you!" he called out, quickening his pace.

Morgana slowed, taking a few more strides before stopping altogether. She didn't turn around.

"Can I help you?"

"You tell me," the man smirked, stopping several paces behind her.

"I don't think I can," Morgana replied, starting to walk again.

She felt pressure on the back of her arm, and the hood fell from her head as she suddenly turned around.

The man was too close – she could smell alcohol on his breath, and could see his scrubby beard in the moonlight as he pushed himself closer to her. "You shouldn't be out here alone," he slurred, keeping his grip on Morgana's arm.

"Get off me," she snapped, trying to prise her arm away. He held on tightly despite his intoxicated state. "I said, get off me."

"I don't think I want to, lady."

Morgana had had enough. With a quick glance to check that nobody would be witness to what was about to happen, she took a deep breath.

"Have it your way," she murmured, and gathered all the power she had inside of her, concentrating it on the arm that was the man's captive. A wave of energy was forced out of it, and she watched with wicked amusement as his expression changed to one of absolute terror. With a crash, he was thrown backwards several metres, landing on his back on the cobbles, groaning in pain. Morgana stretched out her now-free arm, checking it for any sign of injury. With a final, revolted glance at the man – who by now was writhing about in agony – she hurried away in a billow of black fabric.


	2. Chapter 2

_Second instalment - Merry Christmas everyone! A xo_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 2<strong>

**Camelot.**

"Are you ready?" Arthur flashed his wife a smile as he took her arm in his. They were waiting outside the doors of the throne room, and could hear the sound of music as the court musicians took up their instruments.

"It never gets any less scary," Gwen grimaced, squeezing Arthur's hand. He responded to the gesture, patting it reassuringly.

They made a magnificent couple. Arthur was in his full prince's uniform, complete with the scarlet cape of the Pendragons. Gwen was wearing a full-length, full-sleeved gown of palest blue. Her dark hair had been twisted and plaited into an elaborate arrangement, some curls hanging in loose ringlets that cascaded past her shoulders. An ethereal glow seemed to radiate from her skin, and her eyes sparkled underneath their thick, black lashes.

"Will the king not be joining us?" Gwen asked, as the guards outside the door prepared for their entrance.

Arthur shook his blond head. "He's in there already, greeting the guests. It's just us two."

Suddenly, the music swelled and the merry chatter ceased. Arthur and Gwen heard the scraping of benches as the guests took their seats, waiting for their arrival. The guards stationed outside of the throne room's doors pulled aside the heavy metal locks, and pushed them open.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Uther's voice boomed over the music as the doors swung open. "I present to you my son, Prince Arthur of Camelot, and his wife, the Lady Guinevere."

The guests broke out into rapturous applause as Arthur and Gwen were revealed. The prince strode proudly down the aisle, acknowledging the familiar faces in the audience, keeping his arm entwined with Gwen's. They parted when they reached the platform, taking separate routes to their chairs that sat beside Uther's. The king took Gwen's hand as she stepped onto the platform, kissed it, and guided her to her seat.

As the applause died down, he once again stood at the front of the platform. "I am sure you are all aware of the reason for our celebrations tonight," he said, unable to resist a small smile. "Our kingdom has been through some challenging times, and you have all faced loss beyond what any mortal man must be expected to bear. However, I feel that we have now escaped this most difficult of times, and we can look forward to a new era of joy and happiness. And without further ado, I have invited you here – my friends and family – to welcome the arrival of my first grandchild, and the bringer of hope for our kingdom. Ladies and gentlemen, Aurora Ygraine Pendragon, Princess of Camelot!"

Once again, excited applause broke out as the musicians took up their instruments. The guests turned in their seats to face the doors, which would open to reveal the heir to the throne of Camelot. But nothing happened. The doors remained shut, and the guests stopped clapping, unsure as to what was going on.

Uther cleared his throat, casting a confused glance in Arthur's direction. The prince shrugged at his father, equally perplexed.

"What's going on?" Arthur leaned towards Gwen, who was biting her lip anxiously. "Where is she?"

"She was with Merlin," Gwen frowned, bewildered. "He said he'd bring her."

"The fool," Arthur growled, getting to his feet. He pulled Uther aside.

"What is going on?" the old king asked his son.

Arthur ground his teeth as he explained what had happened. "Apparently Merlin's got her. He's probably forgotten, the stupid idiot."

"I should've known that Merlin would have something to do with it," Uther sighed. "I'll send one of the guards to get him."

"No, I'll go. I'd like a little word with him." Arthur said, and stepped off the platform. The guests looked mystified as they saw the prince striding back up the aisle. The musicians seemed to think that the best thing to do would be to start playing again, and as Arthur left the room the celebratory music swelled to a crescendo. The crash of the door as Arthur closed it could barely be heard above the harps, flutes and trumpets.

The guards hovering outside the entrance to the throne room cast curious glances at the prince as he stormed past them, but they did nothing to stop him heading towards the sweeping staircase.

"Merlin!" he yelled from the foot of the stairs. His voice resonated around the high-ceilinged room. The muffled hum of music and conversation filtered through the heavy wooden doors he had just passed through. "_Merlin!"_

He got no answer. A young serving girl scampered past him, clearly terrified at the expression on Arthur's face. He caught her eye.

"You." She stopped short, turning her fearful blue eyes upon her master. "Clarine, isn't it?"

"Y-yes, sire," she stammered.

"Have you seen Merlin? The oaf's wandered off with something rather precious, and I need to find him."

The girl stifled a small chuckle, but she quickly regained her composure. She blinked, still scared of what the prince would do if she said something wrong.

"Speak up," Arthur ordered impatiently. "Don't be frightened. Have you seen him?"

She nodded, her blonde hair bobbing underneath her cap. Under Arthur's penetrating gaze, her voice came out as barely a whisper. "I have seen him, sire."

"Whereabouts?"

She gulped, glancing sheepishly up the staircase. "He was sleeping, sire. I didn't think to wake him. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be sorry," Arthur replied quickly as he leapt up the stairs, two at a time. Clarine scurried off, anxious at the fate that awaited her fellow servant.

Arthur burst into the room that Merlin shared with Gaius, ignoring the cascade of parchment that flew off a table by the door. Merlin was sprawled across his small bed, fully clothed, his mouth hanging open in deep sleep. A small bundle of blankets was tucked under his outstretched arm. Arthur scowled at his manservant, shaking his foot roughly in the hope of rousing him.

"_Merlin_," he hissed, shaking his foot again. The movement jostled the blankets, from which a tiny whimper came. Arthur stopped immediately, and, leaning down, gazed into the face of his daughter. He scooped her up – blankets and all – and cradled her in his arms. She had Gwen's eyes, that was for certain, and her dark hair. _The nose is definitely mine, though_, he told himself. She was a beauty, and he wasn't just saying that because she was his.

A spluttering noise brought him back to the present, and he tucked Aurora into the crook of his arm. She had stopped whimpering now, comforted by the familiar sight of her father. He looked down at his servant in disgust, as Merlin opened one bleary eye. The sight of his formidable master, his face like thunder, caused Merlin to leap up in shock.

"Arthur!" he gasped, scrambling off the bed. "The ceremony!"

"Yes."

"The baby!"

"Yes, Merlin."

"We're late!"

Arthur growled. "No, _you're _late. The one thing you had to do, and you couldn't even manage that."

Merlin looked aghast. "I'm sorry!"

"You should be. The whole thing's ruined because of you."

A tide of sound made its way up the stairs as the door of the throne room opened. A cackle of laughter could be heard as a guest left the room and entered the hallway.

"Doesn't sound like everything's ruined," Merlin smiled hopefully.

Arthur glared at him. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today, Merlin. Otherwise you'd find yourself outside, in the stocks. Actually, I think that would make for some amusing entertainment later this evening."

Merlin laughed, but the look on Arthur's face told him that he wasn't necessarily joking. "Look, I'm sorry. It's been a busy day."

"I don't want to hear your excuses, Merlin. Just get yourself downstairs and start apologising. My father's not happy, Guinevere's embarrassed, I'm –"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Merlin said quickly, pulling on his jacket. He reached out to take the baby from Arthur, but the prince swung himself away from the servant's outstretched arms.

"No way," Arthur glowered. "I can't trust you."

Merlin shrugged in resignation, and sauntered out of the room. Arthur carefully extracted Aurora from the tight folds of the blankets, and smoothed down the white silk dress chosen for the occasion. He waited until Merlin's footsteps had faded away before discarding the blankets and holding out the baby in front of him.

"Now, Aurora," he addressed his daughter sternly, allowing her to play with his little finger. "If you only learn one thing from me in life, it'll be this: don't ever, and I mean _ever_, trust a manservant to do a satisfactory job. They may be loyal, but they're all buffoons, okay?"

Aurora gurgled happily as she sucked on his finger, her big brown eyes shining as she stared at her father.

"Especially if they go by the name of 'Merlin'," Arthur continued. "Now, shall we go and meet everyone?"

**Malcourt.**

Morgana's horse gave an indignant snort as she dragged him away from the trough and swung herself into the saddle. She dug her heels into his flank and the horse lurched forward, his hooves clattering across the cobbles as they galloped out of the village. As she swept through the forest, branches snapping across her face as the wind whistled through her hair, she breathed heavily. The ride back to the castle gave her time to think. She shouldn't have done that. Still, he had to be taught a lesson. Whether he would recover to learn something from it, however…

Something caught her eye in the dense tangle of trees, and she slowed to a brisk walk. Allowing the horse to stretch his neck, she turned him around and headed back to where she had first noticed the flash of orange light. The sound of voices rumbled through the trees, and, peering through the thick trunks, she could see a huddle of people camped out in a small clearing not too far away. Despite the late hour, many people were still awake and conversing loudly. She slid off the horse, tied his reigns loosely around a low branch, and crept closer to the clearing.

"We'll stick around here for a night," one man was saying, and she slipped into the shadow of a tall pine tree. "Best not to hang around too long."

"True," another agreed, taking a swig from a small bottle before passing it to the man next to him. "This place gives me the creeps."

He received a round of scoffing in response. "Scared of the dark are we, Damior?"

Damior growled some profanity in response and got up. His body no longer cast a shadow over the flames, and the group were illuminated in the bright light. They were outsiders, that much was certain – no locals would ever think to come to this part of the forest. She scanned the objects that lay outside their tight circle around the fire: several wooden wagons, some open, some closed, and at least two horses. Some of the wagons – which looked more like a large wooden boxes on wheels – had tiny grated windows. She had seen those before. These bandits were trafficking humans, probably for the slave market situated not far from forest.

Out of curiosity more than anything, Morgana slid into the shadow of one of the wagons and crouched down, straining to listen to the rest of the conversation.

"Tobar's right, though," someone said gruffly. "We should get a move on. Don't want to get caught too near the duke's place."

Morgana frowned – was this the same duke whom the people at the tavern in Greyfell had mentioned? He was the only noble for miles round, and his family had presided over the area for generations.

There was a throaty cackle, and several of the other men joined in. "They'll be onto us already, no doubt."

A wail from inside the wagon made Morgana jump, and she leapt back into the shadowy forest. There was more laughter from the group around the fire.

"Listen to him – he knows we're talking about his daddy!" someone roared. "That was a good find, Tobar."

"Easy pickings," Tobar replied thickly. "He was just lying there in his cradle, all on his own, with not another person in sight."

"I suppose they weren't expecting someone to scale the castle wall!"

"Well, they underestimated us, didn't they?"

"What are we going to do with it, though?" someone sighed. "We can't sell it."

"'Course we can, just as easy as that woman we picked up the other day."

"Ay, she was a looker," another agreed. "Got a fair bit of gold for her pretty face, I'll tell you that."

Someone coughed loudly.

"We'll just tell 'em that it's a prince or something. It's not even a lie, really. And you know how popular young 'uns are these days. That's all anyone wants now – a young lad who can grow up to do their bidding."

The wailing stopped as suddenly as it had started, and the conversation resumed to mindless chatter as more bottles were passed around the group. Morgana, intrigued by the bandits' story and by the noise coming from the wagon, risked stepping towards it. Getting caught wasn't the problem – she had enough power to kill all of them in a second. She just didn't want to be recognised around these parts.

The tiny window was just about eye level, and, after sneaking a quick glance at the men by the fireside, she glanced inside. It was completely dark inside the wooden walls, where not even the light from the huge campfire could penetrate, but she could make out the dim outlines of a crude, make-shift cradle. Something small was moving inside of it.

Morgana was filled with an overwhelming desire to reach out and take whatever was inside that wagon. Whether it was curiosity or something greater, she did not know, but she found herself feeling her way in the darkness towards the door of the wagon, which was facing away from the fire. Her fingers scrabbled to find the heavy metal lock and, painstakingly, she twisted it. The door creaked loudly, and she stood frozen for a moment, waiting to be discovered. But nobody came, and there was no lull in the conversation of the bandits.

Even slower than before, she eased open the rough wooden door, until the gap was big enough for her to slip through. She hoisted herself up through the opening, and felt her way towards the cradle. It was the only thing inside the wagon, and her hands quickly found the rough blanket that covered the sleeping child. Whereas before she had blocked out any light from entering the space inside the wagon, silver moonlight now flooded in through the small window, and fell directly onto the face of the young boy. He couldn't have been more than a year old, his fair curls framing his round, angelic face. Without thinking, Morgana picked up the boy and clasped him to her chest. The blanket dropped on the floor to reveal his clothing – traditional tunic and small waistcoat made of rich animal hide; whether or not this was the duke's young son or not, the boy was not from a poor family.

His eyes fluttered open and Morgana's heart beat faster, sure that he was going to start crying again. But he simply gazed up at her with his grey eyes, his thick eyelashes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Morgana held him tighter, resolute in her plan. She was going to take him away from these people; take him back to the castle at Malcourt.

"Well, well," a voice slurred, and the door of the wagon flew open. Damior, the man who had been teased, stood a foot away from the wagon with a big grin on his face. "What do we have here?"

"Everything alright, Damior?" someone shouted. "Seen a ghost?"

Damior ignored the mock and continued to grin at Morgana, who clutched the boy tight underneath her cloak. "Not a ghost, brothers. An apparition, maybe, but I've never seen a ghost that was _breathing_ before."

There was a scramble as the men got to their feet, and Morgana could hear the thud of footsteps as they came to join their friend. If only there was some way to get out of the wagon – she would be able to take them on a lot easier if she weren't trapped within the wooden box.

"We've been discovered!" somebody hissed, and a red-bearded man stepped in front of Damior. Morgana could see the glint of his dagger tucked into his belt – he was clutching the handle, ready to pull it at the slightest warning. That was her cue.

She muttered some words under her breath, and her eyes turned the same colour as the campfire as the dagger flew out of the man's hand and into the trees. He shouted in surprise, and they all turned to peer into the dark forest to where the dagger had landed. Morgana used this momentary distraction as her chance to escape, and she leapt from the wagon, the boy firmly secured inside the folds of her cloak.

"She's getting away!" one of them yelled as she sprinted back towards the path. They began chasing after her as she escaped with their prize, and she knew they would not stop until they had caught her. She halted, turning furiously around to face the horde of bandits. She uttered some more words under her breath, and the two men nearest to her flew backwards, collapsing into those behind them.

Someone gasped – "Magic!" – and with a terrified roar, ran back to the camp. Many joined him, but several stayed behind, their eyes locked on Morgana and the baby. One of them took a brave step towards her, but she threw him back with a flash of her golden eyes.

"Anybody else want to try?" she challenged, glaring at them through the darkness. No, she wouldn't kill them, though she certainly could. One death – for she was sure that the man in the village wouldn't make it through his ordeal – was enough for one night.

After a moment's hesitation, the rest of the bandits turned tail and ran back, like the cowards they were, towards their camp, some yelling "witch!" as they did so. Morgana smirked, and continued her journey back to the horse at a slow, gentle walk, cooing softly to the angel-faced boy in her arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

**Camelot.**

Gwen was in her bedroom, and had just finished tying the ribbon on the bodice of her dress when there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," her maidservant, Tegan, said, and hurried towards the door. "Who is it?" she called out, one hand on the door's handle.

"Prince Arthur," came the reply, and Gwen's heart leapt at the sound of her husband's voice.

Tegan, looking slightly nervous, quickly opened the door to reveal the prince, his red cape slung over his shoulder. He looked a little flustered.

"Arthur!" Gwen exclaimed as he strode into the room and embraced her. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I think so. Well…no. I don't know."

"Could you leave us, please?" Gwen asked Tegan, who nodded, curtseyed low, and flew out of the bedroom.

"What's happened?"

Arthur sat down on the large, four-poster bed, and held Gwen's hand tightly. She stared down at him, suddenly frightened at whatever had made Arthur look so disturbed.

"Where is Aurora?" he asked, breathless.

"She's with Merlin, I think." Arthur looked alarmed, but Gwen put her other hand on his shoulder, comforting him. "Don't worry, Gaius is with them. Why do you ask? Is something wrong?"

"My father has just told me of his intention to abdicate," he explained in a rush.

"What? When?"

"Just now, I came straight up to find you. He arranged a meeting with the knights and me, and he told us."

Gwen exhaled, and sat down heavily on the bed next to him. "Did he say why?"

Arthur nodded. "He thinks he's getting old. He hasn't been the same since…well, since that whole business with Morgana." He said her name bitterly; the memory of his former friend – and sister – was an unpleasant one. "He's weak, and he knows it. He never did recover from his injuries, and hasn't been out of the castle since. And knowing that they're both still out there – Morgana and Agravaine, I mean – isn't doing him much good either."

"That's no reason to step down…" Gwen thought of the old king, and had to agree that he had seemed weaker in recent years. "But what does this mean for you?"

Arthur shrugged. "I'm the heir. Assuming he does go through with it – and he did seem set in his ways – I will become the next king of Camelot."

Gwen took a moment to absorb this information. "Are you sure you're ready?" she asked, unsure of how to feel about the news. Though it had come up in conversation from time to time, she had never truly thought about the day when Arthur would have to rule over the kingdom.

"I'll have to be," Arthur said grimly. "But I've got the best knights a king could ask for, and the best advisors. And I've got you." He smiled at Gwen, and she nodded fervently.

"I'll be here," she promised, taking his hands into her own. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You'll be the best queen that Camelot's ever had," he grinned.

"And Aurora?"

Arthur's thoughts once again turned to their daughter. Aurora was six years old, and already had everybody in the castle wrapped around her little finger.

"It won't be too much of a change for her."

Gwen hated to do it, and though it made her feel sick, she forced herself to say the words out loud. "But…but what happens if you…" she whispered, struggling to find the words for the horrific image she had in her head. "If you leave us?"

"I'll never leave," Arthur replied fervently.

"You know that's not what I meant."

Arthur frowned, taking a moment to evaluate the situation. "If I were to die…" he felt Gwen's hands tighten around his. "Well, you would take over."

"You know they would never allow that."

"I'm the king. I make the rules."

Gwen forced out a small smile. "Not yet you're not. And you'll know they'll want to sort it before your coronation."

"You're my queen, Guinevere. And _when_ I'm king, I will make sure the whole kingdom knows it."

"And what if something happens to me? Who will rule the kingdom then?"

"Don't say things like that," Arthur said sternly.

Gwen sighed in frustration. "I can't not think about these things, Arthur. I always had it in my head that Uther's reign would last forever, and that we'd remain as we are…happy."

"We'll still be happy, Guinevere."

"I know. But suddenly everything seems a lot closer than before."

He wrapped a protective arm around her bare shoulders, and she leaned into him. "Aurora is our only child, and therefore is my heir."

Gwen didn't move, but Arthur could feel her heavy intake of breath.

"And anyway, the day when that becomes a concern is a long way off. She'll be married by then."

This time, Gwen lifted her head from Arthur's chest and stared at him, her brown eyes boring into his blue ones.

"Married?"

Arthur frowned, confused at his wife's reaction. "Of course. She has to marry one day."

"I know she does. But she's only six years old – I don't want to be thinking about marriage just yet."

Arthur smiled. "You were the one who wanted to talk about the future – the very, _very _distant future," he added. "But it is something we need to think about. I'm sure I've got a list of eligible suitors somewhere."

"She's six!"

"My mother was promised to my father when she was five."

Gwen huffed, and Arthur kissed the top of her head comfortingly. "It'll be fine, I promise. Now stop worrying. How can I be expected to face the kingdom when my own wife doubts me?"

Gwen looked shocked. "I don't doubt you, Arthur. I trust you more than anybody in the world – you know that."

"I was just teasing," he grinned, kissing her again. He allowed himself to be caught up in this brief moment of peace and happiness, before the heavy weight of responsibility fell on his shoulders, and changed his life forever.

**Malcourt.**

Morgana pulled aside the thin canopy of vines that was draped around her bed, and blinked into the harsh sunlight that shone through the open window. She had been living in the castle at Malcourt for nearly eight years, and had done her best to make the dilapidated building a respectable home – a home fit for the true heir of Camelot. The forest had provided many useful resources for her survival: there was plenty of food to be hunted (often using magic, when she tired of slaying game with her sword) and wood to be carved into furniture, and the plants could be woven into sheets for various uses. Life was not the comfortable one she had grown used to living under Uther's wardship, but it was adequate.

Getting out of the bed, she draped her cloak around her shoulders and headed towards the open square in the wall, which provided an excellent view of the surrounding forest. Several feet of flat grassland provided a barrier between the castle and the forest, after which the thick, dense trees took over and covered the land for many miles. Something caught Morgana's eye as she stared out towards the horizon, and she looked down. On the boundary where the flat grass met the forest, a small figure was playing with a large metal object – this was what had glinted in the morning sunlight.

"Drystan!" she shouted, and the boy turned up to look at her. "Get back inside. Now." Drystan's shoulders slumped, and he shuffled slowly back towards the castle, dragging the object behind him. Morgana turned away from the window and left the room, heading down the small flight of stairs to the ground level. There were only two rooms of the castles upper floor – the rest had been destroyed years ago.

Drystan staggered in, taking his time to push the heavy door shut. Morgana waited impatiently in the centre of the open courtyard, the sunlight bearing down upon the black fabric of her cloak.

"I'll have that back, thank you," she scolded, reaching out her hand towards the boy. He hesitated, a glum expression on his face, before reluctantly handing over her sword. "Where did you find it?" she asked, her voice clipped as she held the tempting weapon behind her back, out of his sight.

Drystan mumbled something unintelligible.

"Louder, Drystan."

"In your room."

Morgana glared at him, and he stared defiantly back. "You have disobeyed me, Drystan. You went into my room when I have told you not to, and you left the castle without me knowing."

"I was bored," the boy shrugged, his long fair hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't care if you were bored. It's dangerous."

"I heard some people talking. I wanted to go and see them."

Morgana's heart beat faster. She had put a protective spell around the castle, shielding it from the prying eyes of anybody who was to walk this way. As far as the local people were concerned, there was neither village nor castle at the site of Malcourt. Morgana occasionally ventured outside their home, in order to pick up provisions or news from outsiders, but she had never let Drystan speak to anyone. It had been six years since she had taken him from the bandits, and she had raised him as her own son.

He continued to look at her with those grey eyes that reminded her so much of another young boy – one who had been in her thoughts for many years. Perhaps that was what drew her to him that night in the forest; perhaps seeing the eyes of the baby, the duke's son, unconsciously reminded her of Mordred.

"You are not to do that again," she told Drystan, but already her anger was waning. He was all she had to stop herself from going completely mad, cooped up in this place. He was the one person who had come to her with no preconceptions, or fears. She was able to share her magic with Drystan, so that he might not be afraid of it. Morgana had big plans for the seven-year old.

"I won't," Drystan sighed, resigned. Morgana smiled, and ruffled his hair. Maybe she was too protective of him. Surely, if he was to be useful to her, he had to know something of the outside world. She would start small, gradually introducing him to the world outside their little castle and patch of forest. But she must keep him tied to her; she must never lose Drystan.

"If you're very good," she said conspiringly as they headed out of the courtyard, "I might consider letting you play in the woods. Would you like that?"

Drystan smiled happily. "I'd like that very much, mother."

"But only in the trees that are closest to the house. We can't have you getting lost, can we? And you must never, ever take my things from my room. Understand?"

"Yes, mother."

"Good boy."

"Can I go out now?" he asked hopefully, peering at Morgana through his hair.

Morgana laughed. "No, Drystan, not now. We have things to be getting on with. It's time for your lessons."

Morgana had tried to raise Drystan in the only way she knew how – having been brought up by the king of Camelot, she herself had received an excellent education; one that was worthy of a king, at least. Through books and other materials she had picked up on her rare journeys out of Malcourt, she had taught the boy to read and write well, but she had also been teaching him the other skills she herself knew all about. Though Drystan had no magical blood in his body, it didn't stop Morgana encouraging him in the art of magic, allowing him to perform basic spells that required no inherent powers. He could decipher basic runes, and could create simple potions using the recipes of the old religion.

Drystan, having accepted that his forbidden playtime was well and truly over, settled himself down on one of the throne-like stone chairs in the middle of the room. They had been left behind when the castle was sieged over fifty years ago, embedded into the cobbled ground. Morgana took the other, revelling (as she always did) at the feeling of the solid back and armrests that the throne provided. Though these particular chairs were far less extravagant than the ones in the throne room at Camelot, she enjoyed the sense of power that she got from being ruler – even if it was only over a tiny castle and a clump of trees. One day, the whole of Camelot would be hers.

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><p><em>Hopefully that answered some questions...<em>

_Xmas is over now :( but I hope you all had good ones_

_A xo_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hope you all had a great NYE - happy 2012 :) _

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 4<strong>

**Camelot.**

The court had barely time to celebrate Arthur's coronation before it was swept up in a frenzy of packing luggage, gathering supplies, hunting down men and horses, and general preparation for the new king's tour of the kingdom. As was customary for all new monarchs, Arthur was to embark on a fortnight-long journey to all the corners of his realm, greeting the noblemen who inhabited the vast estates, and dropping in on small villages to establish himself as Uther's replacement.

They had been travelling for about half a day, those on horseback (the king and queen, the knights, and various other royal dignitaries) leading those on foot in a mile-long procession that snaked through the green forests of Camelot. Merlin had been permitted to ride, but was positioned towards the back of the noblemen in their striking scarlet uniforms and gleaming armour. He had hoped that Arthur becoming king would boost his position at court, but so far, he was still stuck with the same servant duties he had always had. He still carried the title of 'manservant' – only now it was for a king, not a prince – and the job had as few perks as ever. Gaius had remained behind, declaring resolutely that he was too old to be, in his words, "gallivanting around the countryside". Merlin had smirked, but now he wished he too had remained at home. He would have enjoyed the few days of peace, with the king and knights gone. Only Uther remained, and he mostly stayed shut up in his room when he wasn't advising Arthur about something or other.

Their first stop was Cafton, a town not far from the court of Greyfell, the noble household with whom they would be staying that night. It was an honour for any family to be asked to house the king and his company, but Merlin wished he could warn the Greyfell family of what they had let themselves in for. He was sure they hadn't counted on the king bringing with him hundreds of soldiers and servants, as well as the various horses and carts full of provisions. He just hoped that the castle at Greyfell was big enough.

As expected, the king and his procession were met with cheers of delight as they wound their way through the streets of Cafton. Arthur was popular with most throughout the kingdom – a combination of his good pedigree, his proven leadership, and his handsome features – and men and women left their houses to line the streets as Arthur and Gwen rode past.

"Where's the princess?" one woman cried out as the king and queen passed her. Princess Aurora hadn't yet been officially presented to the kingdom, aside from the ceremony after her birth, and people were eager to catch a glimpse of the king's only child.

"Good point, actually," Merlin said, riding alongside his master. Arthur rolled his eyes but didn't order him away. "Why isn't Aurora here?"

"It's not safe, Merlin," Arthur answered shortly, and spurred his horse on.

Gwen smiled sympathetically at Merlin. "She wanted to come. Arthur did very well to resist her, actually."

Merlin laughed loudly. "Arthur only gets soft around two people, and that's you and the princess."

"She's probably causing some sort of havoc at the castle," Gwen sighed. "I wouldn't be surprised if Uther's ready to throw her off the battlements."

"We both know that Uther dotes on her. He loves having a granddaughter."

"Makes up for all he lost with Morgana," Gwen said grimly.

"Don't talk about her," Merlin replied sternly. He smiled broadly. "Come on, this is your chance to show everybody what a wonderful, gracious queen you really are."

"Oh yeah?" Gwen laughed, and sat up straight in her saddle, her head held high. "How do I look?"

Merlin looked her up and down, appraising her with a raised eyebrow. "Well…" he pursed his lips. "You're a lovely sight to behold, Queen Guinevere –"

"Thank you, Merlin," she smiled.

" – but I don't think your subjects would be too impressed with the way you treat your servants."

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked, looking confused.

Merlin shrugged dramatically. "Obviously, I'm just a lowly manservant. But if you ask me, my many years of servitude under you a_nd _your husband, the beloved king of Camelot, surely means that I am entitled to something more?"

Gwen rolled her eyes, and relaxed her position – she was a keen rider, but hated having to sit up straight all the time. "And what exactly do you require, good sir?"

"Ooh," he sighed in delight. "How about…my own quarters? It's a little demeaning having to share with Gaius. And how about Knight status? I've saved Arthur's neck more times than the rest of them put together. And I would appreciate not being insulted every time he sees me."

Gwen laughed, her dark eyes twinkling. "I'll see what I can do, Merlin. But you know, I myself have no authority as a humble queen. I've told Arthur not to be so mean to you, but you know what he's like."

"Tell me about it," Merlin lamented. "I've had it for years."

They looked up to see the king trotting majestically back towards them, smiling down at the last few people who had come to see the procession on the outskirts of the town.

"Here we go," Merlin muttered grimly, before raising his head to beam at his master.

"Alright, Arthur?" he greeted him, and Gwen could barely contain her snort of laughter.

Arthur eyed them suspiciously. "What's going on? What's so funny, Guinevere?"

"Nothing, Arthur," she smiled at her husband. "How much further is the castle?"

"Not too far. Why, are you tired?"

"A little."

"We'll be there soon, I promise. Merlin?" Merlin's attention – which had been averted towards a cluster of knights fighting – on horseback – over a handkerchief that had been thrown by a pretty girl in the town square – snapped back to Arthur.

"Yes, sire?"

"Why are you still here?"

"What?"

Arthur sighed deeply, reminding Merlin somewhat of a very angry bull. "You were told to ride _behind _the knights. Surely you don't think it's appropriate for the Greyfells to see Guinevere and I arriving on either side of a servant?"

"Of course not, sire," Merlin answered, and pulled at his reigns to turn his horse around. "That wasn't exactly your attitude when I had to save your backside the other day," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, sire."

"Merlin…" Arthur warned him, his eyes narrowed.

Merlin bit his lip. "Um...I was just saying how I will take the south side. Of the procession."

"Right. You do that."

Merlin nodded, and spurred his horse into a canter. He caught Gwen's eye, and it was clear that she was trying not to laugh. Though he regularly complained about his master, he was happy for the both of them: happy that they had found each other, happy that they had overcome many obstacles in order to be together. They had all been through so much, but finally it seemed that everything was working out for the pair of them. Arthur was king at last, worshipped by the commoners and respected by the noblemen and the leaders of foreign kingdoms. Gwen herself was more popular than any of them had ever dreamed – her fairy-tale story had been told throughout the realm, and she was beloved by everyone, even those who had doubted her ability to marry a prince. And then there was their daughter, Aurora, happy and healthy, and the apple of her parents' eyes. She was stubborn, like her father, but had her mother's kind heart.

"Merlin!" he heard Arthur's voice calling him, and ground to a halt. Turning in his saddle, he squinted through the sunlight back down the procession line to the very front.

"Yes?" he shouted in response.

"You'll be sleeping in the stables!"

The knights all laughed, and Merlin turned away from them. Yes, they had all come a long way since Morgana had been driven out of Camelot, but nothing had really changed at all.

The sun was setting behind the great grey tower of the castle as King Arthur's procession wound its way up the steep hill towards it. Arthur rode ahead, his scarlet cape standing out against the muted colours of his company. He glanced up at the tower, where a large flag had been raised in his honour, bearing the Pendragon crest. Catching sight of two figures standing in front of the great entrance doors, he smiled broadly and hurried to meet his old friend.

"Pellean," he greeted the duke, dismounting from his horse and going to embrace him. Pellean Greyfell's bearded face smiled at him, his grey eyes wrinkled as he beheld the king.

"Look at you, Arthur," he appraised. "Who would have thought you would turn out to be such a popular young king?" He laughed, his booming voice echoing off the high stone walls. He looked past Arthur, at the snaking line of people still making their way up the hill. "I see you brought your entire court with you."

Arthur looked a little sheepish. "I apologise, Pellean. I should have made it clear how many I intended to bring with me."

"Nonsense, your highness. We've more than enough room."

Arthur smiled gratefully. "It's been too long, Pellean. It's good to see you again."

"Must have been at least ten years," the duke agreed. "Remember how we used to be? Hunting every day, and when we weren't hunting…jousting! Oh, how I hated it when you beat me."

Arthur chuckled. "You put up a fair fight, if I remember. But then you refused my offer of becoming one of my knights."

"Ah, alas," Pellean sighed. "I was not cut out to be a knight of Camelot, Arthur. All that bloodshed…" he shuddered. "No, I'm happy here, far away from it all."

"Well, you'll always be welcome in Camelot, if you ever change your mind."

"I am grateful, Arthur. But how dreadful of us! You have yet to have been introduced to my wife, and I yours. Sire, this fine woman beside me is my dear wife, Elaine."

The thin, red-haired woman curtseyed low, but Arthur took her hand and brought her back up.

"I'll have none of that," he pretended to scold, bowing low and bringing her pale hand to his lips. "It is I who must be thanking you, Duchess, for allowing me to stay in your home."

"It is an honour," she said quietly.

Arthur released her hand and turned away from the duke and his wife. Gwen had caught up, and her maidservants helped her dismount next to Arthur's horse. They trailed behind her as she hurried towards the group standing outside the castle doors.

"Pellean, this is my wife and queen, Guinevere," Arthur said proudly, as the duke copied Arthur's bow, taking Gwen's hand.

"How wonderful to finally meet the girl who tamed the prince!" Pellean joked, nudging Arthur with his elbow. "Your letters didn't lie, Arthur – she's a beauty."

Gwen grinned at her husband, who blushed.

"Of course she is," Arthur smiled back, looping an arm around her waist.

"Guinevere, this is my own wife, Elaine," Pellean said, gesturing at the woman by his side. Gwen smiled kindly at her, and she returned with a shy smile of her own.

"Shall we take this little gathering inside?" Pellean suggested in his booming voice, glancing at the hundreds of people slowly making their way towards the castle. "Arthur, please invite your men – _and _women – " he winked at Gwen – "inside the castle. They must be exhausted from all that travelling. I'll send someone out to help them settle."

Arthur nodded, and Gwen was swept up by Pellean as he and the duchess led her inside the heavy castle doors. The king hurried back towards his horse, where a crowd of knights were now dismounting.

"Leon," he said to the nearest of his friends. "Make sure all the horses are put away for the night, and the servants have somewhere to sleep – the duke is sending someone out to help you. You lot," – he gestured towards the knights – "are all invited inside. Pellean's known for putting on an excellent feast."

Leon grinned, excited at the prospect of a decent meal after their day of travelling. "Yes, sire. We'll be with you right away."

Arthur returned to the castle to find Pellean, Elaine and Guinevere sitting beside a large, crackling fire. Servants passed by him, nodding their head towards him absentmindedly as they hurriedly carried out their duties. Guinevere smiled as he entered, and both the duke and duchess rose from their comfortable seats.

"I was just telling the queen how sorry we were to have missed out on your wedding," Pellean explained as they all sat down again.

Arthur nodded emphatically. "I was disappointed not to see you there, Greyfell." He frowned at his old friend.

Pellean shrugged in apology. "There was no way we could have left here. Still picking up the pieces after that fiasco with Morgana…"

"Let's not talk about that," Arthur said quickly. "She's gone now."

"But still," Pellean continued, leaning towards him. "They say she's still around, Arthur. They never did find her, did they? You've got to be careful."

"I will be," Arthur said shortly.

Gwen coughed, and the men drew back in their chairs, as if the exchange had never taken place.

"What were we saying?" Pellean boomed, looking away from Arthur. "Ah yes, your wedding. You received our gifts?"

"We did, they were lovely," Gwen replied, glancing at Arthur. He too was turned away, his eyes focused on the dancing flames in the fireplace. "And we didn't see you at the christening, either."

Pellean's jaw clenched, and his wife took a deep breath. Gwen got the distinct impression she had said something wrong, and Arthur's attention left the fire.

"Er, yes," Pellean said, looking a little uncomfortable. "We were…otherwise engaged…"

Elaine suddenly stood up, and before the men had time to rise with her she had fled the room, her hands covering her pale face and her red hair streaming out behind her. Gwen gasped.

"Is she alright? What have I done?"

"Don't worry, my queen," Pellean assured her, looking anxiously after his wife. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry – I should go." He bowed low towards them both, and then hurried after his wife.

Gwen looked up at Arthur with a worried expression. "Was it something I said?" she asked, replaying the conversation they had just had.

Arthur put a comforting arm on her shoulder. "You wouldn't have known. Pellean and Elaine lost their infant son at the same time Aurora's birth was announced. They were still grieving when we had the christening."

Gwen looked aghast. "I'm such an idiot. How awful for them…I didn't know."

"I didn't tell you," Arthur explained. "I didn't want to worry you."

"The poor little thing…how did he die?"

Arthur shook his head sadly. "He didn't die, Guinevere. He was taken."

Gwen sat down heavily, contemplating Arthur's words. "Taken? By whom?"

He shrugged, and settled into the seat beside her. "They don't know, but it was probably bandits. Apparently there was a group operating here at around the same time."

"I didn't even know they had a son. I wish you had told me. Then I wouldn't have made such a stupid comment."

"Like I said, I didn't want to worry you. I didn't want you to think that Aurora was unsafe."

Gwen thought of her daughter, and the duke's son. They would be about the same age now, give or take a year. She suddenly felt very homesick, and wished she were back at home in Camelot, with Aurora in her arms.

**Malcourt.**

Drystan clung to the tree trunk as he swung his legs up onto a higher branch. He had finally – _finally _– been allowed out of the castle by himself. Yes, he was under strict orders not to go beyond the big pine tree that stood at the edge of the path, but he was one step closer to the freedom he craved.

Living with Morgana, Drystan hadn't had an unpleasant upbringing. On the contrary, she had bestowed upon her adoptive son every piece of knowledge she thought necessary that the seven-year old know, and had kept him well-fed and comfortable. He wore clothes that resembled the tunics of young princes – made from whatever materials the witch could lay her hands on in her trips out of Malcourt – and he was surprisingly well-mannered, given his unconventional home life. But he was terribly lonely. As he had grown older and more able to look after himself, Morgana had stopped spending all of her time with him. Her journeys away became more frequent, and when she was at home she stayed shut up in her bedroom, practicing her magic.

Drystan had had to occupy himself with his own games, spending whole days fighting imaginary dragons in the castle dungeons, or taking part in imaginary duels with an opponent of his own invention. Most of these came from Morgana's stories – the time when she was most attentive to the young boy was at night, when she would tuck him into his small bed and tell him tales that made his hair stand on end. Chilling encounters with old, wrinkled wizards and ruthless kings determined to prevent the heroine (for Morgana's stories always featured a young, orphaned girl with no one to turn to) from returning to her rightful home, filled the boy's imagination, so that the characters in his own games became very similar to the ones in he was told about at night.

Right now, for instance, he was a great Dragonlord, flying so high with his beast that he skimmed the tops of the trees. He nestled into the crook of a thick, sturdy branch, and pretended that this was the hollow at the nape of the dragon's neck. He peered out through the green leaves of the pine, imagining that he was flying, flying away from Malcourt and the cold castle that was his home.

Then he remembered his mother, Morgana, the only other person he knew in this world, besides his imaginary friends and enemies. Yes, she was strict and overprotective, but they were all each other had. He sighed; he supposed she could come, too.

The sound of horses' hooves distracted him from his game, and he pulled himself up so that he was standing precariously on the branch. He was just about tall enough to see through the other branches, and squinted into the distance. Though the spring sun shone brightly through the fluffy white clouds, the dense woodland meant that he couldn't see very far. He waited impatiently for the sounds to get closer, and then a scene of wonder appeared to him. He was suddenly able to see the characters from the stories: the handsome man dressed in royal colours, striding majestically at the front on a pure white horse. Beside him rode a pretty woman in a long dress, and behind them a never-ending line of knights in silver armour, and men and women dragging carts full of goods. The horses seemed far healthier than Morgana's, who he wasn't allowed to ride anyway. From his secret position in the branches of the tree, he was able to get a good look at the faces of the people as they passed beneath him. The man in front was wearing a gold crown, so he must have been some sort of prince or king. His face was serious but didn't look cruel, not like the royalty he had heard about in Morgana's tales. The woman too wore a delicate gilt circlet on top of her long dark hair, and she was laughing at something the man had said. She looked too kind to be the cold, cunning princess he had been told about.

Without thinking, Drystan slid down the branches of the tree until he landed with a soft thud on the pile of leaves below. He stayed hidden in the tree's protective shadow, but the procession was close enough that he could hear the words exchanged between groups of people, be they on horseback or on foot. One of the knights had twisted himself in his saddle so he was facing backwards, and was shouting something at a skinny, dark-haired young man at the back of the group of riders.

"Get a move on, Merlin!" the knight laughed. "We're nearly there, and if you don't hurry up you really will be stuck with the stables for your bedchambers!"

The other man shook his head, but evidently wasn't perturbed by the knight's mocking.

"I don't think the king was joking, Gwaine," another knight joined in. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if that's where Merlin ends up tonight."

"At least I wasn't born in a stable, Percival!" the man named Merlin countered, and the knight scowled.

"You dare talk to a knight like that?" Gwaine threatened, but Merlin didn't seem frightened by the expression on his face.

The line of men continued to snake through the woods, until the last few stragglers with wooden wagons and carts passed by. Drystan was daydreaming, imagining what his life would be like if he too were a knight, when something caught his eye. He glanced at the wagon closest to him, which had a small, square hole cut into the side. The face of a young girl, framed with dark curls, peered through this gap from inside the wagon. A thin gold band rested on top of her head, and it was this that had caught Drystan's eye. Wanting a closer look, he stepped out from beneath the tree's branches, and made eye-contact. She looked a little alarmed at the sight of the small boy suddenly appearing from behind a tree, but she made no sound. Drystan wondered what she was doing, shut up in the small wooden wagon. It didn't look very comfortable, and judging by the several inches of silky fabric that he could see draped around the girl's shoulders, she seemed used to comfort.

After a few seconds of eye contact, the girl raised a small finger to her lips – he was to be quiet, he was not to say anything. He nodded, and the wagon passed by him. She was out of his sight as quickly as she had come into it. With only a moment's hesitation – during which he seriously considered running after the wagon – Drystan darted back into the cover of the tree, and waited until the procession was out of sight.

That night, he refused a story from Morgana, claiming exhaustion. Instead, he thought up his own tale, of a young princess locked up in a wagon, and a lonely boy from the woods who would save her.

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><p><em>So Aurora and Drystan have met, albeit briefly...their relationship will become more important later on.<em>

_Let's make a deal - I'll update more quickly if you review. Okay? Cool._

_A xo_


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry it's taken a while for me to update - I've been ridiculously busy with school and homework, and trying to think of ways to get out of doing homework..._

_Hope you enjoy!_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 5<strong>

**Greyfell.**

As promised, Pellean's feast was magnificent. If there was one thing that the Greyfell area had plenty of, it was game, and the duke and his guests were treated to ample helpings of deer, beef and poultry. The duchess had re-emerged in time for the meal, and nothing more was said about the fireside conversation. Arthur's knights lined the long dining table, and chatted merrily amongst themselves as they relaxed. Merlin, along with the rest of the Camelot servants, had been given the night off, and the guests were being served by members of Pellean's own household.

Fortunately for Merlin, he had not been subjected to the indignity of sleeping in the stables, but had been shown to a small room in the servants' quarters. He settled onto the straw bed, looking forward to the relaxing evening ahead of him, and shook off his boots.

It was only when he heard a knock at the door that he realised he had fallen asleep. Annoyed at himself for not using his night of freedom wisely, he staggered towards the door and, with a yawn, threw it open. Rion, one of the horse grooms that had accompanied them from Camelot, stood in the hallway, an anxious expression on his face. This quickly changed to one of bemusement when he saw Merlin's bedraggled appearance.

"Have you been sleeping?" he smirked, glancing at Merlin's bare feet. "It's not even dusk."

"No," Merlin answered, a little too quickly. "Of course not. Everything alright, Rion?"

"Er," Rion bit his lip. "I think you'd better come and see for yourself."

Merlin sighed. "Can't it wait?"

"It's kind of important."

"Fine," Merlin huffed, and pulled on his boots. With a final, sad look back at the comfortable bed, he closed the bedroom door behind him and followed Rion down the corridor.

"Where are we going?" he asked the groom, running to keep up.

"Storeroom," Rion answered, but said nothing more. He led Merlin through the servants' quarters and past the courtyard, towards the large barn-like structures at the back of the castle. The castle stores of grain and wood had been pushed into the corners to make space for the wagons brought from Camelot.

"It was Ida who found me and told me to fetch you," Rion explained as he led Merlin towards one of the wagons. "For some reason, she thought you would be the best person to deal with it."

Merlin ignored this remark and peered in through the small door of the wagon. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for, but it all became clear when he spotted the small figure sleeping on a nest of thick blankets.

"Aurora," he groaned quietly. The young princess's breathing was heavy in sleep, unaware that she had been caught.

Merlin craned his neck back out through the wagon's door. Rion had now been joined by a stout, matronly serving maid, and they both looked expectantly up at him.

"Should I wake her?" he asked, unsure as to why they had gotten him involved.

"The king ought to know," Rion replied. "I'm surprised they haven't raised the alarm at Camelot yet. She must have snuck in when everything was being packed up this morning."

"They're probably trying to keep it hushed up," the maid, Ida, reasoned. "They're probably hoping that she'll turn up somewhere."

"We should send someone back to tell them she's here," Merlin thought aloud.

"The king, Merlin," Rion pressed, looking anxious again. So this was why they had summoned him: they were too scared to face Arthur themselves with the news that their six-year old daughter had stowed away. They expected him, as Arthur's manservant, to break it to him.

"Okay, okay," Merlin muttered, creeping further into the wagon. He crouched down beside the sleeping child, and gently shook her shoulder.

Aurora's eyes blinked open, and she glanced warily around her as though she had forgotten where she was. When her eyes found Merlin she looked up at him guiltily.

"Hello, Merlin," she said, sounding happy despite knowing she'd been caught. The expression on Merlin's face told her she was in big trouble.

"Princess," Merlin greeted her grimly. "I think someone's got some explaining to do, haven't they?"

Aurora nodded sadly, knowing her game was over. She would be shouted at, and then sent to bed without any supper. And she didn't even have her maidservant with her, who could sneak her bits of food when she got hungry.

With a sigh, she took Merlin's hand and followed him out of the wagon. Rion and Ida tried to hide their smiles as they saw the look of resignation on Merlin's face as he headed towards the castle. He made sure not to look at the girl as he led her by the hand towards the dining hall, as the young princess had a way of turning people to her side with a simple, radiant smile. He needed to have his full wits about him if he were to face the king.

The feast was still in full swing when Merlin and Aurora entered the dining hall, the little girl trailing behind the servant in shame. The king and queen had not noticed the sudden arrival of their favourite servant, but the duke had, and he nudged Arthur with his elbow and pointed towards the door. Arthur stood up at once, quickly gesturing to his fellow diners not to rise with him, and stared at Merlin. It was clear he had not yet seen his daughter, lurking quietly behind him.

"Merlin," Arthur stated, raising his eyebrows. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Merlin ignored the sarcasm in his master's voice, and drew further into the room. He glanced quickly at Gwen, who was gazing at him curiously.

"A stowaway, sire," Merlin replied, and reached behind him to grasp Aurora's little hand. A collective gasp went around the room as the girl appeared from behind him, looking solemnly at the floor.

"Aurora!" Gwen exclaimed, getting to her feet. She flew to her daughter's side, and crouched down to her height.

"What the devil is going on here?" Arthur demanded, looking from Merlin to the child and back again.

Merlin shrugged, releasing his hold on the princess as Gwen fussed over her. "I didn't find her, sire – one of the other servants did. It was brought to my attention that she had slipped into one of the wagons. She's been with us ever since we left Camelot."

Arthur nodded slowly, taking in the information. His attention shifted to his daughter, who looked terrified at incurring her father's anger. She clung to her mother, waiting for the harsh words that were surely to come her way. But the king spoke with a gentle tone, unable to shout at the adorable little girl with her mess of dark curls, who had been so desperate to join them on their trip.

"Aurora Ygraine Pendragon," he said, softly. "What were you thinking?"

The princess bit her lip, unsure of how to reply to this question. She looked into the face of her father – who, to her surprise, did not look that angry – and at the faces of the others around the table. The man next to her father wore a bemused expression, and he shot her a reassuring smile when he caught her looking at him. The woman on his other side, however, was looking away, as if she could not bear to see her. Gwen patted her daughter's shoulder, encouraging her to answer.

"I – I don't know, father," she stammered softly.

"Let me see," Arthur said, when it was clear that he would get no further response from his daughter. "After I explicitly told you that you would not be able to join us, for it is a dangerous journey and you are much safer at the castle, you decide to sneak away from those who were meant to be looking after you?"

Aurora gave a tiny, barely-perceptible nod.

"Then," the king continued, "you find yourself a spot in one of the wagons, and remain there until we have all left Camelot, and are making our way through the towns and woodlands of the kingdom, to finally make yourself known to us when there is no time to send you back home."

"I wasn't supposed to be found out, father," Aurora sighed, and to her astonishment everybody broke out into laughter. The duke's laugh was loudest of all, his voice booming heartily. Even her father struggled to maintain his sober expression.

"Forgive her, Arthur," the duke implored him. "She has done nothing wrong but want to be with her parents as they present themselves to the kingdom."

"She has put herself in danger, Pellean, and directly disobeyed me," Arthur replied, but it was clear his resolve was breaking.

"At least let her dine with us tonight," Pellean suggested. He turned to the girl, still huddled in her mother's embrace. "You must be famished, little princess. How do you fancy eating with us, up here?"

Aurora nodded eagerly, and he beckoned to her to join him. She hesitated, but her mother's smile let her know she was safe with this man. She bounded towards him, and he scooped her up onto his lap. Presently, a plate and goblet were laid before her, filled with delicious food and drink from the duke's kitchens.

"There now," the duke said happily, laughing at the delight on the hungry girl's face. "You eat to your heart's content, little lamb."

"Lamb?" Arthur scoffed as he sat back down, admitting his defeat. "She's more of a lion."

"Or a dragon," the duke chuckled, helping the girl reach for her goblet. "A true Pendragon, it is clear."

**Malcourt.**

Drystan did not speak a word of the event he witnessed in the woods to Morgana. It was his secret, and something within him knew that it was not to be told. His days, once filled with boredom and made-up games, were now spent envisioning the world of the handsome king and his beautiful queen, of the knights and servants, and of the little girl in the wagon. What was she doing there? Why had she told him to be quiet? Why had she not called out for him to help?

These questions consumed the young boy's mind, and though Morgana knew not of what was occupying her son's time, she could not help noticing that a change had suddenly come over him. He was dismissive of her stories, of the propaganda she had been feeding him about her secret foes. She seethed that all her work was, apparently, falling apart; that the web of lies she had been weaving around her young charge was slowly unravelling. She knew that the day would come, one day, when he would become distant, when he would no longer depend on her, when he would no longer demand from her the things she had willingly given. She just hadn't expected this day to come so soon – for it seemed imminent – when he was still so young. No, she had thought she would have had more time to use the boy to her own advantage.

In a desperate bid to keep Drystan's attention solely on her, she decided that she would take him on a little trip out of their castle. They wouldn't go far, only as far as Greyfell village, but he needed to see some more of the outside world if he were to be useful to her. And she did love him, as much as any mother would love her own son. She wanted the best for him, but that meant keeping him close by her until the time was right.

She had never seen Drystan so excited as he was when she told him the news of their trip. He had come to find her a few minutes later, his sack heaving with everything he owned. She had burst out laughing, and had shooed him back into his room.

"Dear me, Drystan, you'd think we were going for a year!" she laughed. "It's only for a day, my darling."

Drystan had huffed, but his excitement never waned. He was finally, _finally_, being allowed to leave the confines of the castle. He would be able to see other people, to visit taverns and watch jousts, just like the ones Morgana had told him about. His faith was restored in his mother, and for a few days all thoughts of the wagon girl were pushed aside.

The day finally arrived, and the sun shone brightly in the crisp morning air. He chattered happily as Morgana helped him up onto her horse, pulling herself into the saddle behind him. She didn't want to take longer than necessary travelling there, and the horse would provide a quick escape if anything went wrong. She knew it was dangerous, taking him to the village so close to the castle where his true family lived, but hell, it was dangerous that they lived in Malcourt at all. Still, she had nowhere else to go and, truthfully, she knew that even if the boy were to meet his birth parents, they wouldn't recognise him. He had been an infant when she had taken him from the bandits, and now he was a tall, long-haired boy, with plain clothes instead of the duke's livery.

Morgana insisted on taking the reins, though Drystan had insisted that he could manage, and they thundered away from the castle and onto the path through the forest. Morgana noticed the freshly-turned soil and wheel tracks, and her chest contracted with the thought that somebody had been so close to their castle. She knew that Drystan often played in the woods, but as he hadn't mentioned anything she convinced herself that they had gone unnoticed.

The journey to the village took longer than usual, as she did not want to risk anything more than a slow canter with her precious cargo. Drystan, however, was determined to urge the horse on, desperate to leave the shadowy, claustrophobic shelter of the forest trees. He yelled with delight as he caught sight of the first building, and Morgana smiled as she relented and they sped towards the village.

Drystan dismounted before they had even stopped, ignoring Morgana's scolding words. He tapped his foot impatiently as she secured the horse at the trough – the memories of that night six years ago still fresh in her mind – and took his hand as they wandered towards the village square. There seemed to be some sort of fete going on in Greyfell, for the market was bustling with life. Flags and banners were waving from every window, and there was an air of excitement as people called from behind their stalls, greeting each other with merry words and smiles.

"What's happening today, mother?" Drystan asked, a look of pure enchantment on his face as they headed towards the stalls.

"I don't know," she replied, glancing around her. She had to remain on her guard, especially in such a busy environment – there could be spies anywhere.

She allowed Drystan to roam the market stalls, sampling the food on offer and drinking in the celebratory atmosphere. Morgana could not help but recall the happy days at Camelot, the birthdays and other occasions where the whole castle would be transformed into a haven of dancing, feasting and merriment. Before she had found out everything, about her true birth and Uther's betrayal, she had been at the centre of all the celebrations. Something inside her stirred when she remembered the beautiful gowns and tiaras she would pick out, and the handsome knights who would beg to dance with her. Even Arthur, the heir and favourite, was eclipsed by her beauty.

Suddenly the noise stopped; the musicians ceased playing and the laughter petered out. All heads turned towards a small platform that had been set up at one end of the square. Morgana and Drystan followed suit, the boy craning his neck past the villagers in front of him to get a better look. A skinny lad in clothes that seemed far too big for him stepped hesitantly up onto the platform, a scroll of parchment clutched in his hand. He coughed loudly for attention, though he didn't need to, for every eye was on him.

"Fellow Greyfell residents and visitors," he began, his voice shaking as he glanced nervously between the crowd and the words before him. "We have been waiting for this day for many a year, and finally it has come."

Somebody in the crowd whooped loudly, and a fresh round of laughter broke out. "Hurry up, Griffyth!" somebody shouted out. The boy waited until silence had once again fallen before continuing.

"The most honoured and noble king of Camelot, his highness Arthur Pendragon, will this day be passing through our humble village of Greyfell."

A man standing near to Morgana and Drystan cheered, and swayed a little on the spot. Morgana could smell the alcohol in his breath, but that was not what bothered her the most. She replayed the boy's words in her mind, repeating them over and over. _King of Camelot…Arthur Pendragon…Arthur…_

It couldn't be. Not now, not here in Greyfell. She silently cursed herself for being so stupid as to think that she and Drystan would be safe. Instinctively, she reached for his hand, and pulled him close to her. He cried out at the roughness of the movement, and attempted to wriggle free from her firm grip, but she would not relent. She had to get them out of there, fast. She looked around wildly, trying to find an escape route, but they were packed within the cluster of bodies in front of the platform.

Oblivious to Morgana's distress, the village lad continued reading. "We are proud to welcome the king and his company to our village, and to pledge our unswerving loyalty to his crown."

This time, everybody cheered. Before Morgana could think of her next move, the crowd parted to form a wide pathway in the middle, and people jostled against her and Drystan in desperation to get to the front. Drystan tried in vain to pull away from Morgana, in order to secure a position with the other village children at the front, but Morgana held his hand tightly. Slinking away now would be too conspicuous, and besides, a part of her wanted to catch a glimpse of her enemies. She hadn't seen Gwen in many years, and since then she had become both queen and mother to the heir. And Arthur, her dear half-brother, had finally got what he had been waiting for, for so long.

A trumpet sounded, and a hush fell over the waiting crowd. A different man stood up onto the platform, and the lad stepped down, looking distinctly relieved that his part was over. His successor was his opposite: short and stout, with a full beard and an air of smug superiority as he gazed over the village.

"May I present," he said emphatically, pronouncing every syllable as if the words were as precious as gold. "His royal highness, King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, and his queen, Lady Guinevere. We wish them well for the rest of their journey."

As the king and queen came into view, both astride the best horses in the kingdom, there was a moment of stunned silence. Then, tumultuous applause rang out, and the people whooped and cheered as their monarch passed them by. Morgana's curiosity got the better of her, and she peered over the heads of those in front of her; Drystan managed to break away at last, and jostled his way to the front – Morgana was too distracted to notice as he wound his way through the legs of the villagers.

Her gaze fell first on Gwen, whose dark hair rippled in waves past her shoulders. Her jaw clenched as she took in the elaborate circlet on top of her former maidservant's head, and she seethed as she heard the villagers call out to her former maidservant in rapture. Not only had the blacksmith's daughter stolen her crown, but she had also stolen Morgana's place in the hearts of the people.

Her focus quickly shifted towards the man by Gwen's side: Arthur, dazzling in his silver armour, his red cape billowing out behind him in the breeze as if he truly were the dragon of his name. Loathing gripped her heart as she stared into his handsome face, beaming down at his subjects. She looked away, unable to bear looking at him for a second longer.

Another face caught her attention, and she frowned, unable to conjure it up from her memories of Camelot. Of course she couldn't: the girl striding proudly along on a small pony between the king and queen could not have been more than six years old. Her dark hair and handsome features immediately marked her out as their daughter; the young princess Aurora. Morgana jolted in shock at the sight of the little girl, and grasped on to her neighbour's arm to steady herself. Without giving an apology, she straightened up and stared again with hard eyes at the pretty face, pink cheeks glowing in the cold air, of the princess.

Any thoughts of Arthur or Gwen paled; this child, with the rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, was the true enemy. Morgana had no chance now of getting rid of the king, or displacing his beloved queen, but the girl…if she were to remove the only heir to the throne of Camelot, then it would, naturally, fall to the next in line after Arthur's death. Should he die while the princess was still alive, Camelot would be ruled by the daughter of a servant, and whatever useless husband that was picked out for her.

But if she were out of the picture…yes, Morgana could see it all now, a flash of what would become of her should she succeed. With the princess gone, the issue of an heir would be unsolved. All she had to do then would be to hasten Arthur's death or abdication, and the crown would fall to her. She and Drystan could rule together, he as her son and heir, and they would be feared throughout Albion. She smiled, her heart beating fast at the thought of how her life would change if she were queen. She would no longer have to hide out in a crumbling ruin, no longer have to sneak around for food or clothing. She could restore magic to its rightful place, and would present Drystan as her son. The thought of returning to the palace at Camelot made her laugh out loud – a short, triumphant sound that caught the attention of many of those around her, but she didn't care. She knew now what she had been waiting for, for all these years; why she had been training Drystan up. It was his destiny, she knew it, to help her kill the princess. They would begin their move at once.

Meanwhile, the young boy crouched down at the front of the crowd that lined the pathway, shielding his eyes from the glaring sun. His heart had leapt as he caught sight of the approaching men and women, and the faces he had been playing over and over in his mind since he had seen them not so long ago in the forest. They were there, truly there, and he knew at last that he hadn't made them up. There was the king – the king of Camelot, no less – and his beautiful queen. And there, riding between them, dazzling the crowd with her fur-collared cape and long velvet gown, was the girl from the wagon. She waved merrily in his direction, but though he tried desperately to catch her eye, she had already passed him by. He waited until the full procession had passed, glancing occasionally up at the knights and servants as they followed, but only one face stood clear to him: the face of the young girl, with a secret to tell.

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><p><em>Next update shouldn't be too long - as always, another plea for reviews. They really make it easier, especially if you have ideas about where this is going - it's interesting to see what you all think :)<em>

_A xo_


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

**Camelot.**

She crouched down in the undergrowth, silently cursing every rustle that her feet made as they shifted on the leaf-covered ground. The prize was in sight – she had a clear shot, if she didn't startle it away before she got the chance to shoot.

The rabbit limped past, oblivious to the predator waiting in the bushes. Its mangled leg trailed behind it, red raw and painful with the bite of a far larger and more deadly animal. The girl eyed this leg carefully, and knew she had chosen a good prey. She was generally averse to hunting healthy animals, particularly for pleasure, but she could see in the hopeless loping of the rabbit that the creature was not long for this world. She might as well put it out of its misery.

She waited until the animal had made its way, painfully, into the spot just in front of the bush, before reaching behind her into her sheath of arrows. It was now or never – she just hoped that the rabbit didn't have enough in it to spring away before the arrow found its mark.

Fortunately, the rustle of leaves had gone unnoticed by the unsuspecting creature, and with a thudding heart the girl set the arrow into its place on the bow. It was a small bow, designed for small hands, but it was well-crafted, light and symmetrical. At this distance, it would be easy to make a straight shot. She licked her lips in concentration as she stepped back from behind the bush, her feet not making a sound as she straightened up. She clasped the bow in her left hand as she squinted at the target, and slowly drew the arrow back, preparing for release.

A crash behind her made her jump, and the rabbit sprang away in fright. She cursed loudly, spinning on her feet to face the source of the noise. A small heap of clothing lay a few feet away, at the foot of an old rowan tree. Green leaves and small, red berries lay scattered, disturbed by the fall. She frowned at the bundle of fabric, but stepped forward, keeping the bow clutched in her hands. As she drew closer, she realised with shock that it wasn't just clothes that lay before her, but a body too. The soft rise and fall of the bundle as whoever it was breathed unevenly had given the game away, but now she was closer she could easily see the mop of fair hair. The person was not very big, closer to her height than the adults at court, and was lying face-down on the ground.

She hesitated, and lowered her weapon, making a final step towards the body so that her toes were almost touching the thick black cloak. She coughed loudly. There was no answer. She coughed again, more pointedly, and nudged at the fabric with her toe.

To her alarm, the figure jumped up at once, and wheeled around to face her. It was a boy, a young boy, with fair skin and hair that fell into his grey eyes. He stood, poised like a cat waiting to pounce, his thick cloak hanging lopsidedly around his neck and over one shoulder. His trousers shorter than those that were fashionable at court, his tunic hung loose, without a belt to keep it secure.

She took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart, and eyed the boy up and down. They stared each other out, boy and girl, before she broke the silence with a high-pitched laugh. He looked slightly startled at the noise, and eyed her bow and sheath of arrows warily.

"Sorry," she spluttered, trying to stop laughing at the boy's strange attire. She noticed him glancing at the bow, and she dropped it onto the ground, kicking it away from her with another nudge of her toe. She raised her hands. "See?" she said showed him. "No weapons."

The boy breathed an audible sigh of relief and relaxed his stance slightly, but he still did not reply. The girl exhaled, realising that she would have to do all the talking.

"What's your name?" she asked pleasantly, stepping forward towards him. He flinched, but didn't step away from her. "Come on," she encouraged him. "You can tell me."

He looked wildly around him, as if he were searching for a way out. In truth, he was remembering the instructions his mother had given him that very morning: don't make yourself known, don't speak to anyone, _don't_ reveal who you are. He'd already broken the first rule, though he hadn't meant to fall out of the stupid tree. He had meant to be keeping lookout, while his mother went off in search of something to eat, but he had gotten bored and had wandered off. He had seen the girl try and hunt the rabbit, and had spied on her from the branches of the tree nearby. And he was about to break the second rule, for there was no way the girl would let him go without answering. But he knew the third was the most important, so he racked his brains for an answer that wouldn't ruin the years of work his mother had done to get them this far.

"Um," he mumbled. "Uh…"

"Cat got your tongue?" the girl grinned. She didn't look like she was about to haul him into the castle dungeons. Her clothing didn't mark her out as a member of the royal court, though she could have been some sort of servant. She was wearing a similar tunic to his, though it was clear her was of a far better quality, and fit perfectly. Her trousers were long and tight, and her boots were of fine leather. Still, if she was going to arrest him for trespassing then she would have done it already.

"Er, my name's…my name's…" he searched his memories desperately for a name, cursing the fact that he had met so few people in his short lifetime. "Griffyth. My name's Griffyth."

The girl smiled again, showing off her two even rows of teeth. "Hello, Griffyth."

"What's your name?" he asked her, relaxing fully now. He put his weight on one foot and set his hand on his hip, with the air of an arrogant prince.

Now it was her turn to be wary. She knew she couldn't say who she really was – if word got out that the princess was sneaking out of the castle to go hunting in the woods, unguarded, she would definitely be locked in her room. The thought of having to spend days, perhaps even weeks, shut up in there filled her with dread. Though she hated the thought of lying to the boy, she knew she had no choice. She glanced up, hoping to find inspiration in the world around her, but saw only the thick branches of the tree.

"Rowan," she stated resolutely. "Rowan Draconis." She held out her hand, and he stared at it, puzzled. "You're supposed to kiss it," she told him, moving closer.

He stared at her hand in horror. He was supposed to _kiss _it? There was no way he was going to do that. But the stubborn look on her face told him that he really didn't have a choice. He hesitated, before bending quickly at the waist and brushing the back of her hand with as little of his lips as possible. He straightened up, and stared insolently back at her.

She retracted her hand, knowing that she was fighting a losing battle.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, eyeing him again.

He thought for a moment, but decided that he had lied enough for today. "Nope."

"Where do you live?"

"We just moved here," he explained. "We move around a lot."

"You and your family?"

He thought for a moment, but for some reason he knew he could confide in this strange girl in boys' clothing.

"There's just me and my mother," he said slowly. "How about you, where do you live?"

"Oh, over there," she replied, waving vaguely in the direction of the town. "How old are you, anyhow?"

He straightened up, widening his shoulders and tossing his hair out of his face. He had told himself he wouldn't lie anymore, but this wouldn't be _too _much of a lie. "Fifteen," he said firmly.

"Liar," she replied quickly, with a smirk. "If you're fifteen then I'm a rabbit."

"I can't see your ears," he joked, pretending to search for them on top of her head. "Alright, I'm not fifteen. I'm thirteen."

She didn't have to speak, for her raised eyebrow said it all.

"_Fine_, twelve. Honest."

She nodded, apparently satisfied with this answer. "I'm eleven. My birthday was last week."

"Happy birthday," he replied drily.

"What were you doing in that tree?" she asked, pointing at the trunk behind him.

He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly fascinated by the soil at his feet. "Nothing."

"You were spying on me, weren't you?" she smirked again.

"Was not."

"You were. You were watching me hunt."

He snickered loudly. "You call that hunting? I could do better if you tied my cloak around my eyes and strapped both arms behind my back."

"No you couldn't," she replied hotly, her cheeks flaming. "Besides, I would have caught that rabbit if you hadn't ruined it all by falling out of that tree. At least I can climb branches properly."

Now it was his turn to blush. They faced off, neither one looking the other in the eye, but both determined not to back down first. After a few minutes, they both sighed deeply.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Sorry," he conceded, at the same time. They both looked at each other now, and grinned widely. "Can I see your bow?" he asked, pointing at the weapon that lay abandoned on the ground.

"Of course," she shrugged, picking it up and handing it to him. He took it eagerly, running his hands up and down the smooth wooden curves, his fingers snapping over the tight string, which gave a satisfying twanging noise.

"It's a good bow," be concluded, handing it back to her. Actually, it was the best-made weaponry he'd ever seen, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"You know about them?" she asked, securing the weapon onto a sash on her back.

"A little," he said quietly, modest now. "I prefer swords."

"Boys always prefer swords," she laughed.

"Who taught you how to shoot?" he asked her, genuinely interested on how this young girl had come across such an exquisite piece of craftsmanship.

She shuffled uncomfortably. If she told him the truth, she'd give the whole game away. "My friend," she answered vaguely. "My father doesn't like me doing it. He says it's not ladylike."

He raised an eyebrow. "But he lets you go around in boys' clothes?"

She bit her lip, embarrassed. "He…he doesn't know."

"Oh."

"Come on," she said quickly, grabbing his hand. "I want to show you something."

He hesitated for a moment, staring down at their clasped hands, but intrigue got the better of him and he allowed the girl to lead him through the trees. When she was certain he wasn't going to run away, she let go of his hand and they walked in companionable silence, side-by-side. After only a few minutes she had found what she was looking for, and the ducked into a small, circular hole cut into the side of a mound.

"What's in there?" he asked before following her. He squinted uncertainly into the blackness of the cave, but it was too dark to see anything.

She poked her head back out, chuckling at his nervous expression. "Nothing, it's just a tunnel."

He still looked unsure, hovering at the entrance, unable to decide whether he should enter or run away screaming.

"Come on," she goaded. "Don't be a coward."

"I'm _not_ a coward," he insisted crossly, and stepped into the darkness.

The tunnel wasn't long and soon enough they walked out into the warm, bright sunlight of the spring day. They both blinked, adjusting their eyes to the sudden light. When he recovered, he noticed her pointing at something on the ground, not so far off. He followed her arm, and the sight before him nearly took his breath away.

It was a pool, some sort of lake, set right in the middle of the forest. It's glassy surfaced rippled only slightly in the breeze, and the vegetation on its banks was green and healthy. It was small enough that they could see to the other side, if they were to crane their necks, but the dark blue of the water indicated its depth.

"I didn't know there was a lake here," he murmured, stepping closer to the water's edge.

She joined him, sneaking a peek at the amazement on his face and smiling to herself. "Not many people do. It's kind of a secret place. That's why I like it."

He crouched down, and trailed a finger in the cool water. The disturbance created ripples that fanned out across the whole surface.

"What lives in it?" he asked, balancing his whole hand on top of the water, as if to stop the ripples.

"Nothing," she replied, crouching down beside him. "And everything. In winter it freezes over, and goes all white."

"I bet a whale could live in here," he said softly, leaning out over the water, trying to see to the bottom.

She scoffed. "Whales live in seawater, not lakes. But I know what you mean. It's kind of magical."

He froze at the mention of magic, hoping she wouldn't see the flash of fear that passed over his face. All his mother's warnings suddenly came back to him, and he tensed, his arm hanging still in the water.

"Are you all right?" she asked him, noticing the change in his expression.

"I'm fine," he answered shortly.

A flock of birds sprang into the air from the trees behind them, making them both jump to their feet in alarm.

"What was that?" he asked quickly, wiping down his wet arm on his tunic.

"Probably nothing," she replied, but she didn't feel comforted.

"Princess!" somebody called from within the woods, and she groaned softly. "Princess!"

"Who is it?" he whispered, noticing her eyes widen.

"Er, nobobdy," she answered, a little too quickly. "We've got to go."

"Who's the princess?" he asked, as she pulled him back into the tunnel.

"No idea," she lied smoothly, glad for the darkness that concealed her blush. They reached the other side of the tunnel, and the sound of hooves trampling over leaves was clearer. They were getting close. "You've got to go."

"But I –"

"_Now_. Run!"

He took off in the other direction to where the voices called out, but glanced back over his shoulder to where the girl waited on the threshold of the tunnel. "Will I see you again?"

"I hope so!" she called back to him.

"By the lake?"

"Yes!" she replied, shooing him away with her hand. She didn't relax until he was firmly out of sight, just as a large black horse clattered into view.

"Princess," Merlin sighed in relief, pulling his horse to a stop just in front of her.

"Hello, Merlin," she smiled sweetly at him. "What are you doing here?"

He shook his head incredulously, helping the girl onto the back of his saddle. "I think the question is, Aurora, what are _you _doing here? I thought your father said you were never to go into the forest alone. He's got practically the whole guard out looking for you."

She sighed dramatically, grasping him around the waist as he turned the horse around. She let out another, quiet sigh of relief when they headed back the way he had come – Griffyth would be safe as long as he didn't cross back over their path.

"And what are you wearing?" Merlin continued, oblivious to what was going on in his young mistress's head. "Where did you get those clothes?"

"Borrowed them," she replied vaguely. Normally she could tell Merlin anything. He was her dearest friend in the castle, and despite him being so close to Arthur, she knew she could trust him not to tell on her. And yet something stopped her from mentioning the strange, grey-eyed boy. She knew only his name, but something within her told her that she would be seeing him again. She hugged her secret tight as Merlin caught up with the other knights, and even when she was interrogated by her father later that evening, she refused to tell him what she was truly doing that day.

* * *

><p><em>Feeling a bit grumpy cos I wrote loads on a future chapter and then my computer crashed and I hadn't saved it :(<em>

_Oh well._

_I'll try and update as soon as I can, but things are crazy at the moment. A xo_


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